A Special Gift
by Star Fata
Summary: Praxian's tend to leave behind more than other mechs. Bluestreak ponders this. PxJ, Bx? Post G1/Movie.


**AN- I've been meaning to write a TF fic for a while, but struggled finding something I could just write and leave, without continuous effort and commitment on my part. In other words, all the plots I came up with were chapter fics. This fic gave me a lot of trouble, especially the word centre. Wasn't sure if I should use the spelling center or not. Stupid wiki.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not work at Hasbro. I am neither American or Japanese. If I do own Transformers, I am rich, and I'm going to fire the glitch who forgot to tell me.**

**To Molten-Ashes, because if you weren't writing so many fics I wouldn't be feeling the need to catch up!**

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Silently, knowing the morgue was empty, Bluestreak slipped in. He'd asked for time to say goodbye to Prowl, and knowing how worried everyone was about his state of mind, he didn't have long before someone gave into the urge to flick on the cameras. He didn't want them to know what he was here for, _other_ than to say goodbye.

Praxus had always been an empire within an empire, which for all its fame, being the technological and cultural centre of Cybertron, had held a wealth of secrets. Most would assume the secrets were contained within the Assembly, the Crown Jewel of the beautiful city, in the science labs, or the near endless archives. Most would be wrong. While the Assembly held its fair share, the greatest secrets in Praxus were contained within the Helix Gardens. And **no** Praxian would _ever _betray this secret.

The Helix Gardens, as stated in _Guide to Praxus, _were a place of reflection and beauty, containing thousands of blue crystals suspended in methane. Each crystal resonated with a sound which invoked peace and tranquillity. It was a mystery… to non-Praxians.

Simply put, when a Praxian died, the spark ceased to power the frame, as in all other frame types. Unlike other frame types, when a Praxian died, the spark didn't just vanish. It crystallized. The resulting crystal, usually a shade of blue, would contain the life memories of the mech or femme in question. Not the petty details, such as what side of a war they were on, the important things. The details that meant the most to them, forever contained in a nigh unbreakable crystal.

Consultations with various Primes, and many years of quiet, devoted study, had revealed that the spark departed the crystal within a vorn, but that the sheer condensed power inherent in the crystal, while inert, meant that no one had worked out a way to destroy one, or damage the data held within. Shortly after Bluestreak had been found in the ruins of Praxus, Prowl had slipped away and sought out his creators spark-crystals. Prowl had quietly confessed his own creator had sustained a direct hit to the spark chamber by a null-ray, but the spark-crystal hadn't been harmed.

Crystals had been known to contain data such as success in a career, bonding, friends, major accomplishments, and in some sad cases, the destructions of happy times. The crystal would resonate with the dominant emotions towards each experience, and the overall 'charge' would reflect the total sum of the lifetime. Bluestreak grimaced, Primus that was a clinical way to describe a spark-crystal.

Each crystal retained the memories for three hundred vorns, at which point it began to 'lose its charge'. Eventually, the crystal would attain the same tranquil resonance that made the Helix gardens such a popular attraction, and the memories would only be readable to other Praxians. This could be sped up by submerging the crystal in methane.

The reason he was here, in the morgue, was to retrieve Prowl's spark-crystal. With a sigh, he slipped his hand into Prowl's spark chamber. It was so _wrong_, to be rooting around in Prowl's grey frame, searching for the remains of his spark. But Prowl would have wanted him to retrieve this. He had, in fact, given both he and Smokescreen orders to that effect. Bluestreak smiled despite himself as his servo closed over a familiar shape. Psh. As if they wouldn't have done this anyway.

Withdrawing his servo, he placed the object into his subspace without looking at it. Replacing the plates covering Prowl's spark chamber, under the guise of resting his hand, he leaned over the frame.

It wasn't Prowl. It was just a frame. But damn if he couldn't feel renewed grief well up in his spark.

Letting out a soft wail, he bowed his head. Maybe he needed to say goodbye more than he thought.

Lost in grief, it seemed like barely a second had passed for the gunner before his doorwing sensors alerted him to a change in air current.

Stiffening, he strained his audios for the identity of the intruder. Recognising the near silent tread of ops mechs, he relaxed, and leaned into the servo that soon rested on his shoulder. Jazz pulled him up and began to lead him out of the morgue.

"I miss him too." Jazz offered softly, as they left the building. He pulled Bluestreak closer as the younger mech shuddered, gently running one servo over the back of Bluestreak's neck.

Bluestreak clung to the former TIC, even as the all-consuming grief faded. "He always listened to me. No matter what he was doing, he'd listen. And he'd talk to me when I was tired, so I didn't have to fill the silence myself. "

Jazz made a comforting noise, never ceasing his ministrations.

"Everyone always said he was cold-sparked, and I always wanted to shoot them, but he wouldn't let me. Said he didn't want me to spend any more time in trouble than I did with the twins. It always took me a second to realise he was partly joking. Always, even when we were on earth and he'd known me half my life. "

Jazz clutched the young gunner tighter as his voice hitched.

"I never told him I loved him. That he was practically my creator. That I was grateful he looked out for me. That I was lucky to have him." Bluestreak vented, ducking his head so he wouldn't have to see Jazz's expression.

"He knew." Jazz spoke, keeping his voice soft so as not to upset the gunner further. "And he thought of you as his sparkling, even as he was sending you out into battle. That's why he encouraged you to pursue gunmanship, it held the least danger on the battlefield, but wouldn't make you a target for sabotage. It let him keep you safe, at least a little."

Bluestreak started, pulling back to look at Jazz. "He told you this?"

Jazz nodded. "And a lot more. He was so proud of you when Prime chose you for the Ark, did you know? He'd been careful not to let on that he knew you, at least to the other officers, but he knew I wouldn't breathe a word. It took orns before he stopped bragging about you. And for once, I'm not exaggerating."

Bluestreak shook his head slightly. "He never told me."

"Probably for the same reason you never told him." Jazz stated, bluntly as ever. "He didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Didn't want to risk rejection. No one ever wants to ruin a good thing by wanting for more."

Bluestreak heard the bitter voice of experience in the elder mech's voice. "That's why you never told him you wanted more, isn't it?"

Jazz started so badly he let his arms drop from Bluestreak's frame.

"He loved you too." Bluestreak said, utterly certain. He didn't need to read the crystal to know that, although he wasn't going to rule out the fact that having it in his subspace might have helped.

Jazz was silent. Bluestreak impulsively reached into his subspace and drew out the crystal he'd just retrieved.

Letting it fall into his hands, he stared at in in mute awe. Without methane to 'smooth away' the troubles of the life-crystal, it looked different to any crystal from the helix garden. Prowl had taught him, in the ruins of their home-city, that each crystal, prior to losing its charge and being smoothed by methane, reflected and resonated with the life of the one who created it.

Prowl's crystal cut off at both ends, as if it had been shorn. This showed both an abrupt beginning and an unnatural end to his life, reflecting his creation as a pre-programmed enforcer and his violent death. The crystal had numerous flaws within, showing the psychological traumas he'd suffered through the millennia, and the cracks on the outside reflected the physical. It was as worn in places as if it'd been a human worry stone for centuries. Prowl's life hadn't been easy. Despite this, it was easily the most vibrant crystal he'd ever seen, with the crystal varying in hue from the vivid pinks of earth's sunset to the palest blues of the winter sky.

What surprised him, even though it shouldn't, was the strength of the resonance. Judging by Jazz's intense interest, it was strong enough to reach him from a full meter away. Prowl's feelings were intense. And what a range…. Without reading the crystal, all he could tell was it resonated with a fierce love, the kind that drove a mech to take a missile to the chest, and a determined hope. The same hope that had led to Prowl finding Bluestreak, and physically dragging him out of the ruins.

Offlining his optics, he let his sensors flicker over the crystal. He saw the fierce love, directed at him, flashes of himself laughing, seeking out Prowl in the rec room, and talking, his servos flailing wildly. Amusement-love-protectiveness-hope for-fear for-FAMILY. The images changed, to the seemingly endless war they'd participated in. Despair-pain-grim-determination-guilt-hope-comradeship.

An image of Jazz appeared, and Bluestreak almost broke the connection out of instinct. Friendship-attraction-loyalty-fondness-contentment-love-nervousness-fear of rejection-fear for-HOPE. It was intimate, and Bluestreak was almost ashamed of having seen it. Wordlessly, knowing he was doing the right thing, he held out the crystal to Jazz.

"Prowl asked me to look after this." He said. "It's an untreated helix crystal. He would have wanted you to have it, as a reminder of him."

After all, he now Knew to his core that Prowl had loved him. Jazz might need a more physical reminder.

"Didn't know Prowler had anything like this." Jazz said, gently cradling the crystal in his hands. Bluestreak could have sworn the crystal glowed. As some of the tension in Jazz's frame bled away, he wondered if it hadn't been just a trick of the light.

"He had two other, but they were on the ARK." Bluestreak shrugged. "This one is important."

Jazz looked at him quizzically, even as he put the crystal into his own subspace. Bluestreak smiled back at the older mech, as his own mind raced. His own part in the war was mostly over, Rodimus didn't want anyone who'd been close to Optimus. This meant it wouldn't hurt to pursue his own interests.

After all, as much as he loved Prowl, he wasn't going to repeat the mech's mistakes. Grinning, which startled the poor visored mech next to him, he decided to ask a certain friend out. If it blew up in his face, he could just blame the grief. He had a feeling Prowl wouldn't mind.


End file.
